


Bright Moon

by amoama



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 20:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoama/pseuds/amoama
Summary: A little Kala/Wolfgang mush.





	Bright Moon

It’s sunset and Kala is staring out at the garden, going crazy, thinking, working herself up like a cola bottle about to fizz over. Thinking about this thing, all of it, how does it even work, this miracle connection? She feels antsy. It’s been a horrible, long, day of feeling guilty and nervous and on edge and she has no idea if these feelings are hers or Wolfgang’s or one of the others. Will she ever be able to trust her own thoughts again? 

She’s sat in the dark grey cell beside Sun. The cell is small and cold. She tries to bring the deep warmth of the sinking sun with her into the room, instead, she takes Sun’s hand and leads her down the steps into her garden, feels the grass beneath her feet, wet and soft. Gifts it to Sun, this rich, sensuous, freedom. This disparity of experience tears at her soul. She does not like it at all. 

“How is it,” she asks, aware of the plaintive tone in her voice, “this thing that brings us - how and when does it happen? Do I control it? Does it control me?”

Sun looks at her, whose expression, her whole manner, is saying Kala, you already know the answer to that. 

“No,” she protests, “I do not understand it.” 

“It is us,” Sun says. 

“Our need, or our desire, or our instinct?” Kala asks, “The back of my mind working ahead of my consciousness?”

Sun shrugs if you like. 

Kala takes her hand again. She thinks Sun needs touch, or, she feels that she does. She doesn’t know anymore. 

“I was thinking of him,” she admits, “but I came here.” 

“You needed somewhere to think,” Sun says. 

“Yes,” Kala agrees. It was that exactly. 

“For you, I am the calm before his storm,” Sun says, smiling to herself, “to me you are hope and a respite from the darkness.” 

Kala hugs her, kisses her. Even though Sun barely responds, she feels it to be welcome. “See you soon,” she says. Sun says nothing. 

It’s midnight and Kala is lying flat under a thin blanket, counting down from one hundred, holding herself still, her mind blank. 

It’s midnight and she’s looking at the stars, freezing, on a park bench. Wolfgang is beside her and she curls into him, purely for warmth. 

“Purely for warmth,” she says to him as he pulls her in tight. He laughs quietly and kisses her hair. She sighs. She is cold, but already more contented - annoyingly. 

“I wasn’t thinking of you, you know,” she tells him. 

“I wasn’t thinking of you either,” he says. “I was sat here enjoying the moon and the night sky and here you are.”

They are lying in her bed, warm, but there seems no point in moving away. He’s wearing far too many clothes, it seems unnatural, but she refrains from mentioning it. That way trouble leads. Too late, he catches her thought, “We could both be naked.” 

“We’ll catch pneumonia! Or be arrested!” She protests. They’re in the park, cold night air piercing her skin. “I do not want to explain to my family how I came to be in a German jail.” 

“It would be me they arrest,” he says, “and I say it would be worth it.”

She laughs, “You deserve an indecency charge.” She snuggles in tighter and he rubs his hands up and down her arms.

She’s in her own bed, hot and cold in his arms. 

She sighs again. 

“You couldn’t sleep?” He asks. 

“No. It was a bad day?” She hadn’t meant to make it a question. 

He nods. He doesn’t want to talk about it. 

It’s one of those times she can let it slide. He just needed her to be here, she just wanted to be here. 

“I can sing you to sleep?” He offers. 

She giggles. He’s a terrible singer. She tells him so.

“So are you.” He points out. She looks up, meets his eyes. He is full of tenderness and he does not realise it at all. She rests her hand on his cheek, strokes a little over his hair. It is really very unfair how irresistible he is. She looks away. 

“Sing to me anyway?” she asks, “Maybe Nomi will join in.” Nomi’s singing voice is nice. 

“No, you’re stuck with me.” 

He hums a little, something she’s never heard before, something she’s known forever. It’s in Spanish. It’s Lito’s voice that murmurs in her ear, Wolfgang’s steady breath floating with it. 

“Luna lunera, cascabelera,  
ve y dile a mi amorcito  
por Dios que me quiera”

On some level she understands the words but she focuses and listens for the language itself, the foreign tongue, outside of herself. 

“Dile que no vivo de tanto padecer,  
dile que a mi lado debiera volver.”

It’s just what she needs to pacify her fretful mind. She curls into him. Her mind accepting his absence as well as his presence. The smell of him haunts her, always. 

“Dile que se apiade de mi corazón,” Lito sings. 

She’s nearly asleep but it’s Wolfgang’s voice she hears, repeating in the barest of whispers, “have mercy on my heart, bright moon.”


End file.
